


The Queen's Speech

by severinne



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-19
Updated: 2010-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:10:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severinne/pseuds/severinne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is too sick and tired for Christmas, but Gene isn't going anywhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Queen's Speech

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dakfinv](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=dakfinv).



> Written for dakfinv for the 2010 Armed Bastards Holiday Fic Exchange.

  
The parcel cradled in Gene's gloved hands was small, and if he was being completely honest, rather sloppily wrapped in its basic red paper with too many fingerprints showing on all the little bits of cellotape holding the bloody thing together. A child probably could have done it better.

His frown deepened when the thought suddenly occurred that he should have added a bow, but then he realized that such an idea made him a big girls blouse. With an indignant huff of misted breath, Gene leaned sideways and stuffed the gift into the glove compartment for safekeeping. No need to spring that nonsense so early in the day anyway, he decided firmly as he launched himself into the crisp outdoors and shuffled just as quickly into the main door of Sam's building. The plan was to take Sam out for tea at an Indian place that swore it would be open Christmas day, followed by drinks at the Railway Arms where Nelson had promised to keep the back door propped open for the special occasion, then hopefully back to Sam's for a nightcap, by which point Gene hoped to be bladdered enough to... well, the exact move he hoped to make was still a bit fuzzy in his mind, but he counted on a Christmas-worth of drinks to bring it into clear and perfect focus.

That didn't make sense, except for the part where it really did.

With an optimistic and gallant air, Gene rapped smartly on Sams door, and then frowned when a prolonged pause was followed by a sort of weak moan sinking through the thin walls.

'Sam?' He pressed his ear to the door and thought he could hear words answering him, though he couldn't make out their meaning at all.

Bugger it. With a bracing grunt, Gene threw his shoulder into the door and busted his way inside.

'Sorry, didnt catch that,' he announced cheerfully, some of his good spirits fading when he caught sight of Sam curled up beneath his bedsheets, peering up at him through glassy, unfocused eyes.

'I said, come in,' he mumbled from behind a childish fistful of blanket.

'Oh.' As an afterthought, Gene pushed the door shut before taking a closer look at Sam. 'Blimey, you alright there?'

'Bit cold.'

Gene bent at the waist for a closer look, saw the sweat beading on his flushed brow. 'Cold, my arse. Looks like you're burning up hotter than Mary Whitehouse in a Turkish bath.' For confirmation, Gene touched the back of his hand to Sam's forehead, wincing at the clammy heat of his skin. 'Probably serves you right,' he decided gruffly as he straightened back up. 'Jumping in the canal the other day, this time of year. Daft sod.'

'She'd have drowned if I hadn't.' Sam sucked in a laboured breath and released a phlegmatic cough that he stifled in the bedding. 'Sorry,' he added, mouth still muffled by damp linens.

'Sorry for what?'

'S'Christmas.'

'Yeah, no shit.' Gene refused to pout; coppers didnt _pout._

Except for Sam bloody Tyler, of course. 'Too tired for Christmas,' he whined, sinking back into his nest of blankets.

'Cobblers.' With a purposeful air, Gene stripped off his coat and threw it across the armchair. 'Got a bit of a chill from your dip in the canal is all. Let's get a cuppa down you already, see if that don't sort you out.'

Sam managed to sip morosely at half his mug of milky tea before shakily setting it down on the floor and stumbling frantically to the loo. Gene listened to the faint retching sounds, stared into his tea, and set it aside on the kitchen counter.

'Reckon it's turned funny?' He sniffed at the milk carton from the fridge, tone forcibly casual as Sam lurched back towards his cot, his hair mussed and his vest clinging sweat-tight across the lean muscles of his back and shoulders.

'Ugh.' With a heartfelt groan, Sam dropped back into bed with greater force than his slight frame should have made possible, setting the bedsprings and Gene's subconscious creaking. 'Sorry, Guv,' he murmured again, curling onto his side. 'Don't think I'll be much good for that Indian after all.'

'Yeah, thank you Detective Inspector, but got that bit sorted myself.' Pausing to stare a moment at Sam's panting, water-splashed lips, Gene collected the abandoned mug of tea from his bedside and threw it together with his own into the sink, returning with a glass of water. 'Maybe we'll see about getting some toast down you after the Queen's speech.'

Sam's tired eyes blinkered blearily open. 'Wha... no, you don't have to stick around here... not on Christmas...

'The only bit of Christmas worth a toss is hearing a few nice words from Her Royal Highness,' Gene interrupted stubbornly. 'And I can do that here just as well as I can sat at home on me own. It's a tough call, but there's the slightest chance that you might be better company than the half-bottle of single malt I've got stashed away in the kitchen.'

A suspiciously soppy look crossed Sam's sickly face. 'Gene...'

'Less you're kicking me out, of course.'

Sam shook his head rapidly, and looked as though he immediately regretted the sudden movement. 'No, not if you... thank you,' he finished meekly, sinking his head back down on the pillow.

Gene grunted. 'Like to have seen you try,' he added gruffly, dropping into the armchair with a swell of relief, 'the miserable state you're in.'

They descended into a mutual silence as Gene turned on the telly, and despite Sam's occasional wheezing and snuffling he couldn't help but find the quiet company comforting. Sam dozed off partway through the Queen's speech but Gene remained somber and watchful, fixated on Elizabeth's haughty but not unpleasant face until the broadcast ended, by which point he reckoned he was ready for a drink.

He was busily poking around Sam's cupboards in his tiny excuse for a kitchen when he heard a creak of bedsprings and Sam's sudden shout of 'Gene!'

'Over here, you daft pillock.' Gene stuck his head around the narrow corner; Sam was sat bolt upright in bed, eyes wide and skin pale. 'Haven't got any cans in, have you?'

'No...' His reply was strangely distant, his head turning to stare hard at the telly.

'Whisky it is, then.' Gene finally located Sam's scant liquor supply, consisting of some red plonk and most of a bottle of Teacher's under the sink. He plucked out the scotch and spotted a second bottle tucked behind the first, one whose untouched contents glowed amber even in the dim cupboard. Pulling it out, his eyes widened as he read the label.

'Bloody hell, Tyler, this stuff's nearly as old as I am.' A strange murmur drifted from behind Gene's shoulder but he was already noticing what his fist closing around the neck of the bottle had concealed. Tied with a slightly crumpled red ribbon was a small card with the words 'For Gene, with best wishes, from Sam.'

Gene's breath caught in his throat as he cradled the bottle with a newfound reverence. And of course the soft git had put on a ribbon.

'Sam,' he called back again, slightly louder as he gently replaced the bottle in the cupboard, 'just got to run out to the car.'

'What?' Sam's eyes flickered away from the test card glowing on the television screen as Gene walked past the bed to rummage his keys from his coat pocket. 'Where you going?' he asked sharply.

'Just told you, out to the car. Back in a second.'

He pulled the door closed as best he could with its busted lock, though Gene could still hear Sam's distinct whimper from the other side. Concern over what had gotten Sam so worked up piled itself upon anxiety of a different sort as he unlocked the Cortina's passenger door and retrieved the small wrapped box from the glove compartment. Once again, he hesitated over its plain and clumsy wrapping but quickly shook it off in favour of getting back inside the relative warmth of Sam's flat. Besides which, the lad hadn't seemed too keen on his leaving in the first place.

Sure enough, when Gene let himself back into the flat, he was greeted with the mildly unsettling sight of Sam backed up into the wooden frame of his foldaway bed, knees and blankets drawn up to his chest and eyes still fixed on the telly. 'Sam?'

Slowly, disbelievingly, Sam turned his head and looked up at Gene. 'You... you came back,' he said softly. 'You're back.'

'Said I would be, didn't I?' With Sam bunched up at the top end of the cot, Gene took advantage of the ample space leftover to sit down at his feet, trying to look as casual as though he took to sitting with Sam on his bed all the time. 'Here,' he announced, thrusting the wrapped box into Sam's lap. 'Was gonna save it for later but the rate you're going at, might be off dancing with the pink elephants by then.'

Sam picked up the gift with tentative fingers, turning it over as though he had never seen such a thing before. Nervously, Gene watched the careful inspection and was about to shout out instructions for removing the bloody paper already when Sam figured it out on his own. He stared blankly at the hinged box in his hands for a moment before, finally, lifting the lid with a soft, inarticulate sound between a gasp and a moan.

No other response was forthcoming, and Gene no longer felt comfortable with this kind of silence. 'It's a replacement for your old one, see,' he explained stiffly, drumming his fingers on his thigh. 'I noticed your watch stopped working once we fished you out of the canal the other day... and don't go thinking this is some sort of reward for pulling a damn foolish stunt like that, got it? If you never go diving into freezing cold water in bloody December again, it'll be too soon.'

Sam still had no response to Gene's rambling, his watery eyes fixated on the gold wristwatch in his hand. His fingers traced the links of its shining band with a fond expression, but when he raised his head, his slightly manic smile was aimed directly at the telly in the corner.

'See?' he said triumphantly. 'Told you he loved me.'

And Sam stuck out his tongue, then returned his attention to the watch, slouching back with a relaxed sigh and peace in his eyes.

Gene stared, and sighed, reaching out to ruffle Sam's sweat-spiked hair. 'Damn right.'


End file.
